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CHAPTER EIGHTY NINE

LYRA

Morning broke cold and damp, mist rising from the river and clinging to everything until my clothes felt heavy with moisture. I woke stiff from sleeping on hard ground and spent a few minutes stretching muscles that protested the previous day's hiking before checking on the others.

Isla was crying quietly when I approached her, trying to muffle the sounds but failing. Her feet were a mess when I examined them, blisters forming on both heels and toes from boots that didn't fit properly, ...

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